


Hungry Like The Wolf

by bazsucks



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: (not really. but costume wise), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Copious Amounts Of Halloween Songs, Drunken Flirting, First Kiss, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Make Outs, Modern AU, They Are 18-ish Here, They Are Bastards And Idiots, They Did The Monster Mash, Truth or Dare, Vampire Eddie, halloween party, so much dialogue, werewolf Richie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 20:00:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21258818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bazsucks/pseuds/bazsucks
Summary: He’s wearing a white billowy shirt, unbuttoned open, slightly, by the front, like a hot Victorian-era gay vampire would wear it. His cape goes down to his ass, and it’s got gold detailing. Richie can definitely imagine being welcomed into his mansion, late on a rainy, stormy night..Maybe that’s just Richie’s fantasies getting the best of him. Maybe not. Maybe, Eddie’s costume is just that good.___________________________ALTERNATIVELY: Richie's a werewolf, Eddie's a vampire, it's Halloween, and they still can't stop touching each other through intricate rituals.





	Hungry Like The Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> this song has a lot of mentions of songs in it, and i'd seriously implore you to listen to those songs (they'll be mentioned by name) while reading for the ULTIMATE experince, but hey, whatever you wanna do is cool too. hope you enjoy!
> 
> also just for reference, they are seniors here, so around 17-18-ish.

Every American teenage wish fulfillment movie has the party scene. You know the one. A wide shot sweeps over a suburban neighborhood, showing each house being vacant and dark on gloomy streets, except for that one specific two-story house that’s illuminated by light, emitting copious amounts of noise – whichever trashy electro song the studio decided to pay the rights to use. People shouting random phrases. Red solo cups. A super drunk girl dancing on a table. Beer keg. General party chit chats.

Richie doesn’t often think this, but right now, walking down a street very much like the gloomy, general suburban street you’ve just heard described – he really does think his life is like those generic ass movies, sometimes.

The fact that he’s walking down this street, alongside his gang of nerds (four of them, at least) currently talking about who’s going to _be_ at the party just adds to his point here.

“I’m just _suh-suh_, saying,” Bill, through fucked up gnarly zombie teeth, limping around on a bandage-wrapped and bloody leg (two different types of Halloween costumers; the dedicated alumn, that sticks to one huge costume, and the sloppy average Joe, that just kind of walks into a costume store, grabs three gorey things, and slaps them on, Bill being the latter) speaks into the cold air. “I heard Betty Ripsom’s _guh-guh-guh_, _going _as a sexy _nuh-nurse_.”

“I’m _nawft_ going as a _fuhking _doctor!” Eddie hammers in, muffled only (really, _only_, nothing can stop this glorious boy from talking) by the vampire teeth that have been plastered onto his canines. Plastered. Glued? Richie isn’t sure, but they sure seem to fit snug.

Man. He watches the air turn foggy as he exhales gently. Once you start thinking about what someone used to glue teeth to their teeth.. you need to zone the fuck back into the conversation. Of course, he’s got fangs too, but they’re the cheap clamp-together plastic kind that dig into your gums to the point of bleeding. The kind you could get in return of arcade tokens. If anyone still went to arcades. No one told him they were all getting super high quality fucking _teeth. Fucking teeth. _His dad would be so ashamed.

“Eddie wouldn’t be a doctor,” Richie shakes his head slightly. He doesn’t see it, but Eddie turns to look at him. You see, Richie may not have gone all out on fucking teeth, but the contact lenses.. the contact lenses had to be top notch. He’s got in bright yellow contacts, they’re so goddamn bright and so goddamn big, it kinda freaked him out when he first got ‘em in. They’re super cool, and they’re currently obscuring Richie’s entire peripheral vision.

“He’s too serious to be a McDreamy type, anyway.”

They say the holiday that kills the most in America is New Years. Richie doubts it, looking around with only exactly what’s in front of him to judge for where he’s going, or who he’s about to walk into. There’s a faint but certain ring of yellow around his vision. It makes things look hazy, and sometimes when he blinks, his vision goes foggy. Worth it.

They get within music-hearing distance, and Beverly sees someone she recognizes, and, covered in bloody murder from head to toe (she went as Carrie, her favorite horror-it-girl) tries to give them a hug. They hear a rambunctious scuffle and a ‘_get the hell away from me, it’s so cold!_’ as they approach the front door steps. People are sitting on the stairs, drinking, and the music grows louder.

Suddenly, the faint, dull ring of yellow surrounding Richie’s vision is illuminated to high heavens as the front door opens, revealing what Richie can only assume is the righteous light of God, judging by how bright his vision just got. He sees neon. He breathes frost.

Then he sees Eddie, black cape billowing from behind, walking into the house before him, then Bill, and then, Richie walks in himself. The air smells of one very distinctive thing: smoke machines. The walls have cut up plastic bags on them, and blood, on some. There’s green and violet lights in the air, and sometimes the smoke is caught by them, and Richie thinks that’s a truly marvelous thing.

“Man!” Beverly, behind him, exclaims. She’s giddy as all hell. Her hair is almost frozen over with dried up fake blood, but that’s not stopping her. If you didn’t know her, standing by the front door of this random house party, you’d almost be alarmed with just how accurate her Carrie cosplay is, and how excited she seems to be covered in a gallon, if not gallons, of blood. “Hell yeah! C’mon, Rich, bar’s gotta be in the kitchen, right?”

“Yeah,” Richie nods, and tries not to show that he almost lost his balance from Bev slapping him on the back. He’s wearing a thick, blue, yellow and white generic varsity jacket. Denim jeans. This whole jock-werewolf look is very new for him. He isn’t sure what’s going to overheat him first; the jacket, or the face fur. Beverly glued it onto his face with some weird sticky orange stuff. “Damn well should be!”

A jazzy track starts playing from the living room. Sounds like something from the eighties, or something. It sounds oddly familiar for the first few seconds. When he enters the kitchen, he sees Eddie, Bill and Beverly lining up a row of shots. Then he hears: _It’s poetry in motion._ _She turned her tender eyes to me. _And then he _loses_ it.

“Oh, _Eddie_,” He beckons from the other side of the kitchen island counter. “Dance with me. It’s Thomas Dolby, you gotta,” He slumps his shoulders, and the ridiculously oversized varsity jacket settles buckily onto his body, like it physically wants to reject being put on such a disgrace. Richie has no time for homophobic varsity jackets.

“_Anf_ I should care _vhy_?” Eddie responds, cocking an eyebrow, which usually doesn’t seem very intimidating, but Beverly put straight up black eyeshadow on his brows, and drew them sorta.. Dracula-y. She also drew a sloppy brown widow’s peak on him. It’s adorable.

“Thomas Dolby!” Richie practically screams. He sees Beverly raising her shot to her lips and downing it, from what’s left of his peripheral vision. While he shouts, Thomas Dolby screams over the speakers: _She blinded me, with science! _

Eddie shakes his head, and Richie does too, and then Eddie’s gently pushing a shot towards Richie, and the yellow ring around his vision disappears momentarily as he closes his eyes, lifts his head, and drinks down the shot.

_________________________________________________ 

Turns out you can only do about three shots before the plastic clampy teeth get really annoying. He decides to abandon them on the coffee table they’re currently sitting in front of, on the floor. They, in this case, being him and Beverly sitting next to each other. The other two are sitting on the couch on the opposite side of the table. Six, or maybe eight, others are sitting around them too, completing the circle. They’re not so much playing party games, as they are just kind of taking turns torturing each other.

Turns out, much like the plastic teeth, it only takes a few shots before the rules of Truth or Dare become really fucking annoying. Those are, much like Richie’s teeth, abandoned on the coffee table. Well, not literally. They aren’t on the table, in any sense other than metaphysically. You get it. There’s green and violet lights here, they hit the glass coffee table beautifully, too, and occasionally a red spotlight will circle around the room and illuminate Eddie and Bill and the others sitting by the couch.

Some idiot named Jacob had accidentally said “Truth to Stacy,” instead of “Stacy, Truth or Dare,” and Richie wasn’t sure why everyone laughed so hard, but damn if he wasn’t laughing too. Lady Gaga had been playing then. Maybe it was juicing him up a bit, socially. And Jacob had gone red as a fuckin’ tomato, and thusly, the name of the game was now ‘Truth to,’ or, respectively, ‘Dare to’, giving the person of choosing, in reality, zero choice.

Not that Richie minded. People were fucking boring anyway, mostly, so it’s only in good spirit to force them to be interesting, no?

The carpet he’s sitting on is scratchy, (it leaves a deep imprint in his soft palms) and it’s rough, and he’s glad he’s sitting on his ass, and not his knees. He’s got his legs under the coffee table, they reach Eddie’s shoes, almost. He’d toed at him earlier. Eddie had gently kicked him off.

Eddie, speaking of, is still going strong on the teeth. Seems like no amount of drinking will make him take them off. Richie commends him for being the better man. The widow’s peak Bev had drawn on him is slightly smudged though. Generally, he looks nice. He’s wearing a white billowy shirt, open, slightly, on the front, like a hot Victorian gothic gay vampire would wear it. His cape goes down to his ass, and it’s got gold detailing. Richie can definitely imagine being welcomed into his mansion, late on a rainy, stormy night..

Maybe that’s just Richie’s fantasy. Maybe not. Maybe, Eddie’s costume is just _that_ good.

“Truth to Richie,” Beverly says, and Richie wasn’t ever sure if you truly were able to physically hear it in someone’s voice if they were happy about something, but he’s sure got his answer now.

“What?” Richie says, and though he’d actually meant it as like, _what’s my truth or dare question_, it seems like everyone else took it as him snapping out of a huge daze, and he hears Bill mutter, ‘_more like Earth to Richie_’ and someone, gorily missing an eye and painted green, snickering from next to him. Bastards. Stupid, zombie-y bastards.

“I meant like-,” He starts, but Beverly’s interrupting him, fast, with: “Have you ever gone down on a girl?”

Richie’s painfully aware of the eyes on him. A new track starts playing on the loudspeakers: _Don’t call me Gaga. I’ve never seen one like that before._

He looks to Eddie, which is a huge mistake, because Eddie’s looking straight at him. He hears a girl scream from some bit away, as well as the distinct sound of a bottle of champagne popping open. He moves his hand on the scratchy beige carpet, adjusting his position.

“Yeah, dude, oughta give what I _get_! What, Bev, you think I’m some sort of douche who just _takes_?” He blows some air out of his mouth and makes a small ‘phhh’ noise along with it. Bev nods, grinning.

“You’re dressed like one,” Eddie adds, simply. Surprisingly, despite it being a joke, he doesn’t say it with much pazzaz at all. Just kind of.. dull. Quietly. Richie smiles at him, because, it was a joke, right? Some strangers (as well as the Zombie Girl) laugh from next to Richie. Then Richie realizes it’s his turn.

“Uh,” He starts. He looks around. Should he go for a stranger, or a friend? Sure, it’d be fun to pick one of his friends, but the room seems a bit dead (zombies withheld) and Richie is always one for creating some new social bonds. He looks to his side, and sees Zombie Girl. “Truth to you.”

Her eye (one being covered in latex and green paint) widens, and she sort of turns her head like ‘me?’ and Richie nods. You. “What’s your biggest, uh,” He looks to Bill. “Sexual regret?”

Beverly scoffs, her face illuminated by violet light. Lady Gaga’s autotuned voice blares: _He ate my heart and then he ate my brain! _

“Seriously, Rich, ‘sexual regret’? You sound like a therapist.”

“Wha- _bro_, how the hell else am I supposed to say it? _God_, you make the questions then,” Richie says, but no one listens, except Bev, who scrunches up her nose at him. He does the same, leaning in, and it kind of looks like they’re flirting. God. If only the people knew.

Eddie puts his legs up on the couch, bending his knees.

Zombie Girl starts off with a surprising level of confidence. “Oh my God, definitely going anal without research. Fucking yikes.”

“_Oh_, kin, bitch.” some guy in a maid’s outfit and rainbow stockings says solemnly yet determinedly. Then someone tosses the ‘truth to’ someone else, and Richie kind of zones out, because he looks ahead of him, first to his leg, bending his knee (it’s getting kind of uncomfortable to sit on the floor, they’ve been here for a hot minute) and then upwards, coincidentally, to where Eddie’s sitting.

He’s still got his knees up, and he looks kind of.. sad. He’s toying with his cape, black satin. Cheap, but shiny and enough to impress. Hmm.

Richie reaches up to scratch his cheek, but he forgets he’s got fluffy dark brown fur glued to his side burns and a quarter of his cheeks, so he just kind of scratches through the.. uh, face, wig?

Someone throws the ‘truth to’ Bill, and they ask if he’s ever kissed a guy. Bill just laughs, shakes his head, and lifts the beer bottle to under his fucked up zombie teeth prosthetic.

_________________________________________

Richie has never known any of his friends to be very particularly interested in dancing at parties, but his friends, much like himself, and much like fifty other idiots at his party, shot the fuck up once they heard the iconic intro to Bobby “Boris” Pickett’s Monster Mash; a door, slowly creaking open, and several seconds worth of potions bubbling.

“I _vas_ workin’ in the lab,” Eddie starts, and Beverly ends it off with, “-late one night,” and that’s when Richie joins them, swooping in on the makeshift dance floor, and wiggling into their little circle. He adds, in beat with Mr. Pickett: “When my eyes beheld an eeery sight!”

Richie doesn’t know how to dance and he doesn’t care, at all. He doesn’t have any care left over in him. Not one fucking care in the world, because the genius of Bobby Pickett is not one that waits for _caring. _He isn’t sure where Bill is, until he spots him a few people over, with Zombie Girl, just as poorly singing along to the song as he is. Richie locks eyes with Beverly, the light catches on her bloody face easily, and nods over to the two of them, with the attitude of ‘look at these two,’ in his eyes.

Beverly practically beams, and leans over to Richie to half-shout in his ear; “Five bucks they make out tonight,” and Richie doesn’t even bother to lean in to tell her: “I’m not taking a _losing_ bet!”

Then, surprisingly, Beverly breaks off from their little dance circle, and joins Ben and Zombie Girl’s, apparently deciding this situation needs a wingman. Which leaves just Richie and Eddie.

Richie smiles, and Eddie smiles, and the green light catches his fangs, just slightly.

“The ghouls all came from their humble abodes,” Richie starts, and Eddie ends, “To get a jolt, from my _elektrhodes_!”

The people around them who don’t know the actual lyrics and only knows the chorus, suddenly very loudly yell ‘_they did the mash_!’ all around them.

They laugh, and Richie looks around. Every few seconds, a light catches his eye, and the yellow ring round his vision goes neon bright, and he gets distracted, but he blinks it off, and looks back to Eddie, who now, very suddenly grabs Richie’s face by the fur (literally) and points at his nose. Richie’s movements halt for just a second too long.

“The guests included wolf man!” Eddie yells into his face, points at him and smiles so wide, and his face is nothing if not joyful, and green, glowing and plastered with dental gum, and Richie smiles wider.

“Dracula.. and his _son_!” Richie points back at Eddie and yells back, deliberately trying to poke his finger (clad with a plastic black claw, Beverly glued all ten of them on his fingers earlier and they hurt like all fucking hell) out of his face, and their pointer fingers touch, and they kind of share a secret smile about it, under the lights, and between the people.

And then one of Eddie’s fangs falls out of his mouth.

______________________________

The upstairs hallway is basically vacant when they get up there. Someone’s been taking up the downstairs bathroom for about exactly as long as a bathroom hook-up lasts, so they opted for upstairs. It’s quiet, and Richie leans against the wall when Eddie turns the knob, half expecting this bathroom to also be occupied, but apparently not, cuz the door glides open, and Richie moves to stand in the door.

“Close the door.” Eddie says, and looks at Richie like he’s an idiot, one tooth in hand.

“Uh,” Richie says, and walks in, and closes the door behind him. “Why?”

“Lock it.” Eddie adds, and then, “If two idiots are gonna take up an entire bathroom just to fuck around, then I should be honored the same luxuries due to an actual emergency.”

Richie locks the door, and leans against it, hands behind his back. “Yah’know,” He starts, and looks around. It’s a surprisingly spacey bathroom. Weird shaped tub. Scandinavian design. Soft white gold handle. “I doubt one fake tooth is an emergency.”

“Needing to fuck is not an emergency either!” Eddie hush-shouts, holding the fang up to his tooth and pushing it by the roof of his mouth. “Damn,” he says, and digs through his pocket, then, he finds a little clear glass bottle with a little brush in it. “It’s not sticking.”

From downstairs Richie hears the iconic; _dun dun dun dun, dun dun dun dun, snap snap, _from Andrew Gold’s The Addams Family.

“Eddie_eee_,” Richie whines, writhing against the door. “Your toothmergency is making us miss the A. family! The A-dogs!”

Eddie shakes his head. “Go then,” he says, maneuvering a little brush on the inside of the tooth. Richie runs a hand through his hair. It’s got a lot of hairspray in it. _Not like you need it,_ Beverly had said. _You already look wolfish._

Richie takes a step toward Eddie, who’s now holding the tooth back up to his canine tooth, making sure it really sticks. Richie sighs loudly, and looks into the little mirror. The contacts freak him out less and less, the more he sees them. The yellow ring around his vision never stops being annoying though. The Addams Family is only about a minute and a half long, so it’s not long until the song changes.

The bathroom may be spacious for one taking a bath, but they’re still slightly cramped in here. The light is yellow tinted, so it mellows out the room. Or.. at least Richie thinks so. Might just be his own personal yellow ring of death making it seem so.

The faint thrumming of Rihanna’s Disturbia plays as Richie pokes Eddie, with his claw, in the side. He doesn’t as much yelp, as he does jump, and shoot Richie a disbelieving look, but it really only comes off as comedic, as Richie looks him straight in his drawn on eyebrows, with one hand halfway in his mouth, holding his canine tooth.

“Whafh the fuck was thath for?” Eddie speaks, hand-mouthed. Richie just grins, and pokes him again.

“Nothing,” He shrugs. The varsity jacket rustles. It’s too firm. Richie wants to stretch his arms about, in an attempt to unharden the leather a bit, and he’s pretty sure he can touch the ceiling of this bathroom if he tries hard enough, but he doesn’t find the time to test his theory. “You just look ridiculous.”

“I look _scary_,” Eddie has the audacity to say, and he uses his non-tooth-holding hand to point in the mirror, “Look.” He adds, with a nod, as if that proves shit. Richie nods, raises his brow and goes. “Oh, _yeah_. The most ferocious monster; limp handed one toothed vampire boy.”

Right about now, Richie feels a bit dizzy. He steadies himself a bit, on his feet. He can feel the alcohol is catching up to him a bit.

Rihanna screams downstairs about something, and Eddie swats at Richie’s side with his hand. Then, he finally lets go of the tooth, and it seems to stick. “Alright, let’s-” He starts, but Richie’s poking at his side again, at the same time saying; “Hey.”

“What?” Eddie says, speaking very slowly to make sure he doesn’t disrupt the still settling tooth just yet. Richie reaches out to poke him again, and Eddie slaps the hand away, now with a laugh and a wide, yet confused smile. “What is it, Richie? Have you gone full dog-brain mode or what?”

Richie answers with a smile, and a soft voice. “Are you having a good time?”

Van Halen’s _Runnin’ With The Devil_ starts playing. Someone changed the song. The air in the bathroom is stuffy, at this point. Eddie looks at him with soft, wide eyes. His response is caught off guard-ish. “Yeah.. I am.”

Richie can tell there’s a ‘why are you asking?’ at the end of that, but Eddie doesn’t seem to get it out in time, before someone’s pounding on the door to the bathroom and yelling about ‘hurryin’ it up, charmer’.

Richie nods, and before Eddie can get another word out, he’s unlocking the door and stepping out, Eddie fast after him.

They arrive into the still semi-empty hallway just in time for Eddie Van Halen’s kick ass guitar solo in the aforementioned song, to which Richie bangs his head at furiously, making his already voluminous hair bounce further. He does a little shuffle in his converse, too, and tries (fails) to moonwalk. Eddie’s glorious laughter fills the hall.

“Hey,” Eddie reaches out and grabs Richie’s (honestly, huge) varsity jacket sleeve, and pulls him aside slightly, and out of the way of a mummy girl making her way through. “Why’d you ask that?”

Richie looks down to the ground. “A guy really can’t just jam out to Van Halen anymore, nowadays, huh?”

Then he looks up, and shrugs slightly, as if he’s physically pushing the question off of him. “You just seemed.. far away, in the living room earlier. S’all.”

He reaches over and pokes Eddie’s cheek, and adds. “I’m _glad_ you’re having fun though.”

“Then stop poking me, dickwad!” Eddie shouts as Richie keeps walking down the hallway. Fucking Kesha just started playing, and he’s not about to miss Beverly rocking the fuck out to _Cannibal._

But then he suddenly feels the collar of his jacket being ripped backwards, and him, wearing said jacket, goes along with it, until he’s halfway bent over backwards, and he feels someone bite his neck, and put their slick, wet, warm tongue on his skin. It sends a thousand signals through his brain, down his spine and up his arms again. He feels weird, buzzing, all over. Like he has an all-body itch that needs scratching. _Woah. _

He only registers the plastic fangs seconds after, and during, the mouth is on his neck. Then, seconds after those seconds, he registers that it’s _Eddie’s mouth. _

And then the _mouth_, the tongue, and the plastic fangs are _gone_, and Richie..

Well, Richie falls on his ass to the floor immediately. The alcohol caught him. Eddie’s boisterous laugh fills the hallway, and Richie tries to get up on his feet, slowly but surely. Eddie laughs the entire way through. Richie feels like he’s on fire, like every nerve is being exhausted in the confusion as to why Eddie just kissed him on the neck of all places, now, of all times.

He doesn’t get much of an answer once he stands up.

“Payback, idiot! Your fault for falling over though, I claim no responsibility.” Eddie crosses his arms. Richie cocks his head. And then he realizes this is literal payback, because- right, yeah. Richie poked Eddie with his plastic claws. So Eddie bit him with his.. plastic fangs. Right.

“Dude!” Richie puts on a whole dramatic show of wiping Eddie’s spit off his entire neck with his sleeve. “Gross, it’s like I can feel your disinfecting mouthwash through my pores.”

“That’s the cleanest your neck has been in years, then.”

Richie shakes his head, and because he’s an idiot, he mutters ‘I’ll show you clean necks’ under his breath. And because God hates him, Eddie cocks his head, and goes; “Oh, yeah?”

Okay. Well. Guess this is where it’s going. The tequila doesn’t mind.

“Oh, yeah, Eds,” Richie starts, taking a few slow steps towards Eddie, stepping closer, and Eddie doesn’t move until Richie’s right in front of him, and that’s when he takes a step back, only to realize he’s just been backed into the hallway wall. Someone downstairs shrieks, and ACDC’s Highway to Hell starts playing.

“Did you know,” Richie leans in. “That _ACDC_ can be slang for ‘bisexual’?”

“I difn’t.” Eddie answers, cautiously. His eyebrows are smudgy now, too.

“They played at a lot of gay bars in the seventies, so people thought that’s what the meaning was, too. They were actually named after a form of electrical current.” Richie adds quietly.

“Oka-“ Eddie starts, but by that point Richie’s already done his sneak attack, which includes only what it says on the box: licking an entire _wet_ stripe of spit up Eddie’s neck and up to his cheek.

Eddie recoils so hard he smashes his head into the wall behind him. It makes a huge dense noise, and Richie feels the pain in his own skull. He does feel a little bit bad, but not nearly as much as he should.

“_Argh_!” Eddie exclaims, and shoves at Richie, who grabs Eddie’s arms and pulls him closer.

“That’s payback for my _ass_ injuries that I won’t be suing you for,” Richie’s grin is downright wolfy, even with his plastic teeth all the way downstairs.

“S- Jesus,” Eddie, at first, hadn’t been keen on Richie holding his arms down, but right now he might need it, he looks dizzy as hell. Hey, not Richie’s fault the idiot decided to go gopher smashing on his head. Richie watches him squeeze his eyes shut. “I need to sit down.”

“Uh,” Richie steps back, and walks to the first door he sees that isn’t a bathroom. It’s a simple bedroom. “Here.”

_________________________________________ 

Eddie hadn’t turned on the lights when he’d gone into the dark, moonlit bedroom, so Richie decided not to either. Give his yellow tinted eyes a rest, for a minute.

Eddie plants himself at the foot of the bed, and Richie follows suit promptly. He feels kind of bad, looking at Eddie rubbing the back of his head. Well. He feels relatively bad. How was he supposed to know Eddie was gonna go nuclear on the wall the second Richie made tongue-to-skin contact?

Richie, still kind dizzy and floating around, mentally, yet so grounded, physically, lays down, his back hitting the cool bed covers. They’re soft. Really soft. And such a nice juxtaposition to the rough, scratchy carpet from downstairs.

The room is cast in gentle grey-blue shadows. There’s two big, bright connected windows, and through them, moonlight shines. There’s a desk with copious amounts of makeup on it. Richie closes his eyes.

“Are you leaking, Eds?” He asks, as he sits back up. His spinal cord downright _moans _and_ groans. _

“Maybe so,” Eddie starts, and finally stops being a drama queen, letting go of his head. He still pouts, of course. “Why’d you _haff_ to do that, jerk, now my head’s all poundin’.”

“Why did _you,” _Richie very pointedly says, leaning on an arm and shoving his head in Eddie’s personal space bubble. Over the years, he’s come to know exactly where it goes at all times. He loves breaching it. “Have to _kiss_ my _neck_ like that?”

“I _difn’t_ kiss your-,” Eddie starts, and really, he could’ve easily finished, but he got distracted by the sudden sound of screaming downstairs. Distinctively sounding like Beverly. She’s fine. Eddie braves on. “I _difn’t_ kiss your neck. It _vas_ a payback bite.”

“Then your form of ‘_payback’_ is my form of ‘_the closest I’ve had to sex in six months_’. Seriously, Eds, you should be careful with that kinda heat you’re packing. Those chompers shouldn’t end up in the wrong hands.” Richie shakes his head, and lays back down. He’s being halfway incoherent and he should be lucky if Eddie understands anything he’s saying right now. He hears a bottle popping open, downstairs.

“God,” Eddie shakes his head. “You’re so.. shut up, Richie, jesus.” He mutters.

Richie isn’t sure what to make of it. What’s this? Where’s the ‘shut the fuck up, dickwad’? Where’s the shove, and where’s the push? Is Eddie actually mad at him? Richie squeezes his eyes shut. He wants to rub them really hard, until he sees those spotty stars, but he can’t, because he has the contacts in, and he’s afraid he’ll rub them so hard, they’ll get stuck in his eyes.

Turns out it doesn’t take rubbing your eyes to see stars. All it takes is keeping them closed, and _apparently_, Eddie Kaspbrak will naturally lean down and kiss you.

When his eyes open, he doesn’t so much see stars as he sees one singular star, or, more specifically, the gorgeous, gorgeous eyelashes, and brow of one Eddie Kaspbrak. Richie’s hand shoots up, and touches to Eddie’s cheek, down to the curved juncture of his jaw. _God_.

A noise escapes one of their mouths and falls down the other’s throat, and Richie thinks he really must be the most pathetic and luckiest person in the world, as he leans up, only to be prompty pushed right back down again by one of Eddie’s hands, keeping him on the bed covers.

_Fine_, Richie thinks as Eddie climbs on top of him. He smells of smoke machine smoke, and cheap Halloween face paint, and beer. _Fucking go ahead. _

“Holy shit,” Richie’s mouth only gets a few seconds of free roam to speech, and it sure takes advantage, though not in the most productive way. His dick, unlike his mouth, is having many many many seconds worth of showtime, and sure, he’s a senior, but Lil Richie is as spry as ever and certainly awake, if you wanna put it like that. He doesn’t have time to be embarrassed. He doesn’ have time for anything except Eddie’s fucking mouth on his. His tongue is _wet, _the plastic teeth he occasionally touches with his own are _weird _feeling and Richie _loves _it.

Richie slides his hands over Eddie’s thighs. He’s wearing perfectly normal black jeans. The most standard, generic black jeans you could possibly imagine, yet Richie grazes over his legs like he’s wearing the finest silks in all the land. Like Eddie _is_ the finest silk, and the softest mink.

Eddie leans down halfway towards Richie, but he doesn’t lean all the way down to kiss him. Richie halters. _“Eddie.”_

“Is thif a stupid thing to do?” Eddie counters. He doesn’t sound insecure. Not scared. Just.. cautious. Just aware. Richie isn’t having any of it, leaning up until he’s sitting, his face almost leveled with Eddie’s. He reaches a hand up to touch his cheek again. Eddie blinks, and adds: “Is it bad thaf I don’t really care if it is?”

“_Eddie,_” His name sounds like fire and brimstone from his lips. Like it hurts. But he wants it there anyway. Richie shakes his head, and he’s not sure what to say after that. Eddie’s name is truth, but where do you go after the only thing you know to be true? Do you guess? _No_? It’s _not_ stupid? But why isn’t it?

He looks down at Eddie’s ridiculous vampire shirt. Yellow tinted at the edges. Eddie is heavy on top of him. It feels good. 

“I’m-,” He starts.

And then Duran Duran’s _Hungry Like The Wolf _starts playing, and they hear an absolutely Earth shattering “_Richie!” _from Bev downstairs.

**Author's Note:**

> hoonestly yall, i could've easily kept working on this n had this be a 10k oneshot but i wanted this to go up on halloween, damn it. PLEASE PLEASE let me know if you liked this, as i'm kind of still insecure about anyone liking my writing at all. 
> 
> if enough people want it i'll probably write a part two to sort of finish it off all neatly(: 
> 
> comments make me happy !!!!!!


End file.
